RAVENNA

Part 11

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Author POV

The bottle smashed against the marble floor, whiskey spilling like wasted blood. His attendants froze, shivering at his outburst.

"That cursed woman!" he snarled, chest heaving. "How dare she trick me again?"

The door creaked, and Muna entered—her presence enough to make the room empty in seconds. She eyed the golden liquid soaking into the carpet and smirked.

"Shame," she murmured, seating herself with leisurely grace. "Good whisky should die in the throat, not on the floor."

"You think of whisky," he growled, fists trembling, "while I keep failing to drag her down. Again and again!"

"Failure," Muna swirled her glass lazily, "isn't the end. She has wrapped her schemes well, disguising scandal in romance, making a love triangle out of thin air." She drained the last sip and set the glass down with a sharp thud. "But she cannot mask herself forever—not when something as grand as the Witch's Fare comes into play."

Her lips curved into a sly smile.
"Muriel... tighten your leash. We have a gift prepared for your kind."

~

Nieve POV

"Let me help you," I offered, reaching for the spring onions on the chopping board. "Small cubes or medium?"

"Medium is fine," Liliya said.

"Lily! Lily! Have you seen my stamp?" Michael's voice boomed from the other room. Liliya rolled her eyes. "Umm... Nieve, stir the stew for me? I'll be back quick."

I nodded, taking her place at the stove. Wooden spoon in hand, I stirred the bubbling stew. Round. Round. Round.

The motion tugged at something inside me, pulling me back—back to small hands and crayons, back to a voice I had almost forgotten.

"Mama, lound, lound."

I was in her lap, my tiny hand secured in hers as she guided me across the paper.

"No, Rivi, not like that," she said softly, her laughter warming my ears. "Take it from up to down, like this."

Her words were patient, her touch steady. I tried again, clumsy strokes wobbling across the page.

"Lound, lound, Mama!" I chirped proudly.

"Yes, round, round," she beamed at me.

The sound of a phone call pulled her attention away, and she set me down. I remember crawling, tumbling toward the desk, reaching for a marker. I stumbled back to her side, gripping her hand with determination, and scribbled my masterpiece.

"Mama... geen," I said with a giggle.

She gasped, staring at the green circle drawn across her skin.

"Mama, likey?" I asked, hope spilling from my little voice.

"Yes, baby," she whispered, eyes soft. "Mama likes it."

"Geen lound lound."

"Woah," she laughed, brushing my hair from my forehead, "my daughter knows her colors too. You're smart like Dada."

"Da?" I pointed at myself with a grin.

"Yes, Dad," she said, kissing my hand. Her voice lingered like a lullaby, even as the memory began to blur.